


Shared Visions

by Princess of Geeks (Princess)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Cliche, Established Relationship, M/M, The Bond, power animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-19
Updated: 2010-03-19
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:12:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess/pseuds/Princess%20of%20Geeks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Porn in which Blair's curiosity ensures that Jim's panther is definitely there in the background.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shared Visions

**Author's Note:**

> My first Jim/Blair story.

Blair rolled over in bed, heavy with lingering sleep. Jim was propped on pillows beside him, reading the newspaper. The light was coming straight into the sleeping area, and it was not the soft horizontal light of early morning. It twinkled on Jim's badge and the brass buckles of his gunbelt on the dresser.

"Jeez, what time is it?" Blair said, rubbing his eyes.

"Nearly ten," Jim said. He straightened his leg, flattening it against the mattress. The small mountain of comforter over his knee had hidden a tray, containing a teapot, two mugs, and a plate of bagels and cream cheese.

"Ten? I never sleep this late. Shit. But, we didn't make it home from the bust until nearly, what, four?"

"Mm," Jim said.

"Good thing I cancelled that seminar, huh."

Jim had poured him a mug and handed it over. Blair leaned on one elbow and accepted it, gratefully inhaling the fragrant steam before drinking. After handing off the mug, Jim's hand traveled the short distance to Blair's hair, smoothing across the crown, pushing a tangled strand behind Blair's ear, where it refused to stay. He watched Blair drink, then settled back against his pillows and picked up his newspaper again.

Blair sipped, letting consciousness seep in with the tea. It had been a long busy night and he was stiff and still tired. He rolled to his back and balanced the mug on his chest as he stretched.

"I gotta piss," he said, "but I don't wanna get up."

"Too much information, Chief."

Blair snorted. He sat up, reached across Jim to put his mug on the tray, and rolled out of the warm nest of their bed. "Oh, now you tell me," he said over his shoulder. Naked, he headed for the stairs without bothering to grab Jim's robe, which was folded across the foot of the mattress, and stomped noisily down. "You sleep with me. Kiss me with morning breath. Medicate my hangovers with huevos rancheros -- ooo now, there's a good idea for later if we have any cilantro left -- you bring me tea in bed, bring me the toilet paper when I'm taking a dump and the bathroom's out because you forgot to unload the groceries and restock --"

"Because _you_ forgot to unload the groceries," Jim muttered, though he knew Blair couldn't hear him.

"-- plus you fuck me senseless at every and any opportunity, and yet, hearing me describe a perfectly normal ordinary and everyday need to empty my bladder in the morning is T.M.I.?"

Blair was suiting the action to the words.

Jim smiled at the monologue, sipped tea, and kept reading. Their Jags had barely squeaked into the playoffs, and since they had missed the game on television the night before, he was avidly absorbing the local sports reporter's story. Blair was coming back up the stairs. Jim noted automatically that Blair had, in fact, washed his hands.

"-- so, to summarize, your T.M.I. definition suffers from a complete and total lack of consistency, if you don't mind my pointing that out." Blair paused, leaned for his mug and poured himself a second cup of tea. "This smells wonderful; what is it?"

"I don't know all the herbs it has in it, but it's called 'Better Than Catnip.' It was in that box of stuff your mother sent us for Christmas."

"Well, mee-yow," Blair said, setting his mug on the tray and spreading cheese on half of a bagel. He ate where he was squatting, over the tray, so that crumbs wouldn't fall in the bed to annoy Jim later. He let his eyes enjoy Jim's biceps, his smooth chest, the easy way his ribcage rose and fell as he breathed, the tantalizing way the fluffy comforter covered him just from the point at which the almost-invisible line of hair below his navel began to darken and lead downward. So inviting, even now, months and months into their life as lovers.

As if he could feel Blair's regard, Jim, without looking, set his mug on the tray and, still perusing the sports section, reached up and began to pet Blair's hair. He scrubbed his fingertips at the crown of Blair's head, flattened his hand over the tangled curls, then kept going to smooth across Blair's shoulder. Repeat. Blair closed his eyes, blissing out at Jim's touch.

"Not meow. Make that, purrr," he said, and opened his eyes in time to see Jim smile. Careful to keep his head under Jim's hand, Blair polished off his bagel and drained his mug.

Jim, one hand still in Blair's hair, tossed aside the sports page and turned to his side, looking at Blair appraisingly. Blair knew that look; knew how the flush it brought to his jawline and his collarbones would be perceptible to Jim as heat. Knew Jim would note his heart rate increasing even before Blair did himself. Knew Jim would smell the cascade of chemical reactions that was making his cock stir and lift as his blood rearranged itself. Blair moved the tray from the bed to the floor and leaned in, Jim's arms coming around him. Blair pushed the covers down to Jim's knees as his lips parted and found Jim's warm, open mouth.

Raisins, and the smoky tang of the tea, and the sweet cheese. Smooth slide of skin, and, lower, a rasp of wiry hair as Blair's thighs edged across Jim's. Like puzzle pieces, they were in place, two bodies fitting together, kissing, rocking. When the kiss ended, Blair rested his forehead against Jim's.

"Yeah," Jim said, faint surprise and faint gratitude, like always. Blair smiled, eyes closed, as Jim's big rough hands smoothed his hips. Blair kept rocking, inching forward. He leaned part of his weight on Jim's shoulders so that Jim could press his now-hard cock into the valley of Blair's ass.

"Still purring," Blair said, and Jim murmured approval. Blair opened his eyes. He leaned forward, pressing against Jim's shoulder, and searched with one hand under the pillows for the lube that was generally kept there.

_Purring..._ A train of thought lazily pursued as he opened the lube and smeared it where it would do the most good... Blair balanced on his quads, watching Jim's distant, inward expression as Blair reached back to touch his cock. Jim's eyebrows drew together. His lips parted. The hot friction of himself against Blair's crease was smoothed and slicked by the lube. Watching Jim, enjoying every minute change of his expression, Blair exhaled, raised himself on his slightly stiff quads again, lined them up, and slowly sank. His eyes went all heavy lidded (if Jim could have seen them; Jim's eyes were closed) and he forgot the twitching work his leg muscles were doing in the intense bliss of penetration.

Blair was so hard; hard and probably dripping, but his attention was not really on his own cock just then. It was on Jim's face, and on the feeling of slowly, carefully using his well-trained breathing to open himself while pushing back, degree by degree, until his glutes were nicely pressed against Jim's flexed quadriceps and the pulse was hammering in Blair's throat, in his wrists, behind his knees. Blair paused there, relaxing into the stretch, feeling the fullness, the slaking of a deep need.

"Yeah," Jim said again, rocking his hips slightly, tearing a growl from Blair. Jim's eyes flew open and his hands moved to cup Blair's jaw, comforting, smoothing. "Too much?"

Blair shook his head, unable to speak. He tipped his head back, stretching the skin of his neck, and Jim splayed his fingers over Blair's throat. Blair breathed -- intently, consciously. His nipples stood up, stiff peaks, and Jim contemplated them, the ringed and the ringless, remembering their taste, their texture in his mouth, the way Blair would groan if he tugged on the ring at the right moment, but he didn't lean in or move his hands from Blair's throat. Blair was running the show this time; Blair would say what he wanted.

Blair whispered, "Just let me, let me...."

Jim waited. Well, his intention was to wait, but he rocked his hips again, just a little. Blair smiled. Blair swallowed, and Jim watched his Adam's apple. When he spoke, his voice was strained by the angle of his neck. His hair spilled against his shoulders, releasing a faint scent of juniper.

"The tea, and all that... purring... got me thinking..." Jim purred himself as Blair began to punctuate the pauses in his sentences with tiny rolls of his hips. "...about your Panther.... About how, exactly, you see it... and I thought... we could try something here...."

"Jesus. Blair. Do you. Ever. Stop the experiments."

Jim moved his right hand, traced his thumb along Blair's ticklish jawbone, drew both his thumbs across Blair's pulse points and cupped Blair's head, just behind his ears. Though Jim had not pushed or tugged, Blair raised his head to level, and met Jim's eyes. He smiled and licked his dry lips.

"Why, no. I don't."

Jim could smell Blair's sweat, his precome, his breath. It took a lot of control to stay still, to divert that urge to rock up, to slam in and out of Blair's ass, into, instead, simply keeping his quads flexed, staying tight and rocking slightly, oh so slightly, against Blair's delicious behind. That sensation was enough. For now. Grinning at Blair's answer, Jim ran a finger over Blair's lips. Blair expertly captured it between his teeth, drew it in and sucked. The sudden pleasure made Jim groan and close his eyes. Blair pushed the finger out of his mouth with his tongue. Jim rested his fingertips against Blair's chin, feeling him speak.

"Now... I want you to tune in... to that Panther..." Blair was trying for his professor voice, and that, melding comically with the rough edge of his arousal, almost made Jim laugh out loud. That was good; it was helping Jim keep his focus a bit separated from the intensity of being buried in Blair's ass. "...What's it doing... tell me...."

Obedient, Jim stopped looking at the reddish black of the interior of his eyelids and _looked._

"He's here," Jim replied instantly. "He's ... me." It never required effort to find his Panther. Jim just had to look in that way he had now arrived at, somehow 90 degrees to his everyday Sentinel sight, and the imposing animal was either there or it wasn't. There was no seeking for it. It came to him, in dreams full of warning and portents. Or sometimes in a neutral, simple appearings, just there, without warning, pacing him in traffic or sitting in a corner of the loft. Or, most often, as a familiar, interior presence, as real as sunlight or the tea mug in his hand. What was weird was how non-weird it had become. And now, the cat was just there, matter-of-factly occupying the same space as Jim's (oh so involved) physical body.

Blair said, "He's you... in you. No outsider perspective... like... watching... a movie...?"

"Yes. No," Jim groaned, because Blair was fucking _moving_ now, lifting and falling, up and down, sliding Jim into and out of himself. Hard. Driving Jim's barely contained arousal straight up toward climax.

Blair said (_and how can he fucking talk right now_), "He's in you... and you're in me... and hold that, Jim, hold that, and maybe.... Maybe I..."

Liquid heat. Pounding blood. Rhythm like a drum, the drum that is the heartbeat...

"Maybe I can...."

Sweat, sharp and sudden in Jim's nostrils, on his tongue. Hearts, slamming, speeding up, synching up...

The sleekness of black fur...

The blur of a leap, from blue, into blue.

And Blair was coming, too, shouting, wordless, one hand on Jim's shoulder, the other hand gripping himself, moving fast, then more slowly, smearing the white jets of come over taut, rosy flesh...

Blair sagged forward, leaning on Jim, and rubbed his wet palm across his stomach. He pushed back his hair from his sweaty forehead.

Jim panted, his face flushed, feeling the lovely heavy press of Blair on his pelvis and thighs. The so-sensitive and barely tolerable slip of his softening cock, still inside Blair.

Jim drew a deep breath, held it, blew it out. He watched as Blair mirrored that breath. Blair's tanned skin had a sheen of sweat. Jim felt/heard their hearts slowing, releasing their synched rhythms, creating an allowable crack in the pattern, which simply showed its complexity without destroying it. Simply a diversionary branching in a fundamental unity. Blair let one hand slide to Jim's stomach.

Blair said, breathless, faintly smiling, "Man, you never told me -- that he has silver eyes."

Jim laughed, a sudden bark of delight, and pulled Blair down to lie close against him.

 

end.


End file.
